Fault
by thirty2flavors
Summary: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs' individual takes on October 31 - November 2nd, 1981. - Reposted.
1. moony

**Fault**

**Author: **Kali _(thirty2flavors)_

**Rating: **PG. Strong language here and there.

**Summary: **Four very different perspectives of a certain three day chain of event that shape the rest - or the end - of their lives.

**Notes:** I wrote this a while ago, revamped it in August of 2004. A lot of it is the same, but I tweaked some grammar, fixed some typos, and changed some wording. Reviews are very much appreciated. Repost, because fanfic was being weird.

_Moony___

Every one of the other three have fallen in one way or another.  
  
James was first. The one with the most to live for was the very first to die. The one who had a family was the one who went down first. Ironic, isn't it? A week ago I would have told you that, of the four of us, he was the one I knew any of us would save first. James was the one that I figured, in a save-one-sacrifice-the-rest situation, would be saved. All three of the rest of us seemed to recognize that, because he had a wife and a son - a _family_, he would be the one we'd do the most to protect. The top of the priorities list.

On a similar note, I never would have expected that Sirius be the cause. That Sirius of all people, _Sirius_, be the one to cause it, is absurd. He was the one who dropped the stone in the water to watch it ripple. I never, for all the money in the world, would have thought him to be the sellout. If someone had suggested that Sirius Black would be the one to sell out the Potters - to sell out _James_ - I would have laughed at them. Laughed.

And I never would have expected Peter to be the one to die with his back straight. I never could have anticipated that Peter Pettigrew would be the one to confront the traitorous, murderous ringleader. I wouldn't have expected Peter to go down fighting for his friend in a manner so truly honourable. It's almost ludicrous to think that Peter was the one who rose to meet the challenge and make Sirius face the music.

Perhaps that is why I dropped Divination in forth year.

I do not under_stand_ it. I don't understand how three days ago Sirius could have handed over his best friend - the person _everyone_ was convinced he would have done anything for - and proceeded to murder another. The thought itself is sickening.

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.

Alone, murdered, traitorous and betrayed.

_What_ a quartet we are now. It's a far cry from _Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Maker_ isn't it? Age-old links that seemed invincible have completely crumpled, irreversibly damaged.

I know they thought it was me.

No one anticipated, of course, that Sirius would follow the path of everyone else in his family. It couldn't have been James. Never James. That was out of the question. And Peter...why, why would it be Peter? The proudest moment in his short life had to have been his death. Order of Merlin, First Class.

It was _my_ job to be the rational one. To find loopholes like this. To notice when something is wrong, to notice a change in the pattern. It was _my job_ to stop this kind of thing from happening to us.

Years before any of this James would say I was the bungee cord, the one that pulled them back up before we all got ourselves killed.

A bungee cord doesn't help when it's not connected to any of the jumpers.

Two dead, one as good as.

And the remnant.

_It's my fault._


	2. wormtail

**Fault**

_wormtail___

Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Three of the most powerful people I knew have fallen in the past three days - James, Sirius, and the Dark Lord; and in one way or another, it's all because of me.

I bet none of them saw that coming. _Would_ have seen it coming, had the only three people who knew not been unable to tell anyone. After all, James and Lily are dead, and no one is willing to listen to a convict, the one who killed thirteen people infront of a whole host of more. The one everyone regards as unstable and homicidal, completely unhinged.

I should have known I wouldn't be recognized even for the biggest thing I'd ever do. Life doesn't work that way for me, and it never has. Why should it have, though? When you're nothing more than a molehill and your friends are the three tallest mountains, it only makes sense that their shadows fall on you.

There was James. So bloody _wonderful_ in everything he did. He had the brains. He would spend not five minutes studying and get the highest marks across the board in all his NEWTs. He had talent. He had Quidditch. He had a gorgeous wife. He had a son that would be just like his father - perfect. And he would have done anything at all for anyone he cared about, even if in the end it got him killed.There was Sirius. The _charming_ one. The one that everyone _adored_. The one with the looks and the charisma and the pack of salivating females at his heels twentyfour seven. The one that could do no wrong, the one everyone loved infinately and the one everyone would have trusted with their life. I don't suppose they trust him so much anymore.

And then there was Remus. The thinker, the realist, the one who made sure the group had at least two of the eight feet on the ground. The selfless one. The one who's alone.

It's only natural that no one ever notice me. I'm not the one who sticks out. I'm none of the above. I'm not wonderful, I'm not charming and I'm not a thinker.

The biggest event in my life never even happened, and I'm dead to the world. Someone else was credited with the biggest thing I ever did, and the only ones who would praise me for it are defeated.

I guess I needed Remus to tie me to reality as much as Sirius and James always did.

I tore them apart. I murdered a friend, framed another and abandoned the last.The quartet is gone. I know that.

It's funny, really, how the last act of the play is the only one I'm in.

_It's my fault._


	3. padfoot

**Fault**

_padfoot___

It's over.

As over as over can be, at least. Voldemort's gone. The war is over. James and Lily are dead. Peter's in hiding for a long, long time, Remus has no one to turn to and I'm in here for life.It's pretty much _game over_ for everyone.It's not fair, although life never is - not occasionally, not every so often, _never_. It should never have happened. Looking back on it now, it only makes perfect sense, but still it should never have happened. The Potters shouldn't have died. Peter shouldn't have gotten away with it. I shouldn't have gone without a fight, and Remus should know the truth.It's a pity life has a way of laughing in your face.My best friend and his wife are _dead_, killed in the worst way possible with a swift, unexpected stab to the back. It's nothing short of _sickening_. The four of us were supposed to be such good friends - the kind of friends you die_ for_, not die _because_ _of_. The type of friends you can trust with anything, including your life.Yet, thanks to one fucking traitorous _rat_, one of us is alone, one of us is in prison, one of us is regarded as a hero and one of us is **dead**.And despite what the world thinks I didn't even get to kill him and even the score.With one idiot move Peter ruined the lives of five people - seven, if you count himself and his 'master'. He chose to do the one thing that would knock everyone off their feet, with one quick sucker punch.

It left James dead. One of the best aurors for the ministry, father of legend-in-the-making Harry Potter, my best friend, and the most _trusting_ person I know, six feet under, dagger between the shoulder blades. Unable to know we _won_, unable to see his son grow up because he's dead. Fucking _dead_.

It left Peter in hiding. Dead to everyone in the world and condemned to spend one hell of a long time hidden, no support on either side thanks to his own cowardice. No allies, none of the big body-gaurd friends left to protect him. Not a redeeming thing to show for his twenty five years.

It left Remus alone and unaware. He doesn't even _know_ the whole story. He won't ever really _know_ why it is James is dead, why it is 'I' blew up a street full of muggles or why it is the biggest part they found of Peter was his finger. He'll know what the media feeds him, misinformed, misunderstanding, misunderstood, frighteningly alone and without the sturdy pillars of friendship to lean on.It left me here.The worst aspect, apart from the loss, apart from the wrongful conviction, apart from the innocence, apart from all of that, is the nagging voice at the back of my head.

_Your idea,_ it says. _You convinced James to use Peter. You convinced him it was Remus. You convinced yourself not to take the position. You convinced them it was /safe/. You convinced them it was for the better. You pursuaded them, talked them into it, talked them into their death._

The worst part of thise whole thing is knowing that the nagging little voice is entirely too correct._It's my fault._


	4. prongs

**Fault**

_prongs___

They're all broken.

And there's not a damned thing I can do about it. Naturally - it's too late for that, _way_ too late for that. They're all broken beyond repair, and not one of us will ever be quite the same.

I always kind of figured we were all so interconnected that if something were to happen to one of us the others would feel the reprocussions. I always kind of knew that ours was a chain that needed all the links to stick together at all, and even one missing link might send us all tumbling. Like a house of cards built much too shakey; one wrong move, the slightest tap of one of the cards and it would fall. A circle missing even the smallest fraction is not truly a circle, because it's not endless.

I never really figured _I'd_ be the one who'd break the circle.

I did, anyway. Not like I meant to or anything. Hell, no. In a way I suppose it was a joint effort from Peter and I - it was at our meeting point that the circle snapped. If I'd been along someone else, maybe it wouldn't have happened. Probably not. Point is, I was the weakest link and in snapping I took the rest of them with me.

Amazing, really. Circles can take a lot of pressure from outside forces, but in the end its the links that bond them that break. One of those internal demise kind of things.It's also amazing how much you can think of to say to a person once you know you'll never have the opportunity. Denied the opportunity, you'll find yourself scripting an entire conversation you and your arch nemesis will never have. Friends turn into essays, long, unwritten, unpenned essays that will never _be_ put into words apart from in your mind.There's no real way to explain it apart from talking to a wall. Try to hold a conversation with one. It won't respond. You can say all you like, insult it, praise it, confess undying love, resolve your deepest secrets, and it won't even snort inaudibly. You can make up dialogue in your mind all you like. You can invent replies, create caustic snaps or chuckles or the way the wall would reply to that witty joke you just told it. Still, there'll be a nagging voice at the back of your mind saying it's not the same. No matter the personality you create for this wall, no matter that you tell yourself that _is_ what the wall would say, _goddamnit,_ there's still be the voice in the back of your mind telling you it's not the same.That's kind of what it's like, except the personality isn't fabricated; it's the very character of those closest to you, closest to you and farthest from you all at the same time.

I know what I would say. I wish I had the chance.

I would apologize to Remus. I would apologize for the wrong assumptions, apologize for the previous three weeks, for the wary glances and the clipped tones. I would apologize for ever wrongly assuming it was him, I would apologize for not giving him the benefit of the doubt, and I would apologize for second-guessing how well I thought I knew him. I would apologize for being right the first time. I would apologize for not telling him the truth - and I'd apologize for keeping him in the dark. I'd apologize for not trusting him as much as he deserved. Most of all, I'd apologize for leaving him alone.

I would tell Peter, in however many words it took, what exactly it feels like to be stabbed in the back by one of your friends. I would explain to him what it's _like_ to be sold out by someone close to you, whether or not he wanted to know. I would _make him_ feel it, because I knew Peter - perhaps I don't anymore, but I _did_ - and I know that he's not heartless. Selfish, yes, a coward, yes, a traitor, yes, but not _heartless_. If he can feel one thing he can feel betrayal, and so I would show him. I would _show him_ that _this_ is my cask of Amontillado. I would explain it until he fucking _understood_.

And I would redeem Sirius, because I know he won't listen to his internal monologue if it tries to do just that. I would tell him that this whole thing isn't his fault. I would make him realize that there was nothing he could have done, no way he could have known, and that he should _never_ take responsibility for it. I wouldn't forgive him, as there's nothing to forgive, but I would _make_ him forgive himself. I'd tell him not to be so hard on himself, I'd tell him not to let it ruin him more than it already has, and I'd tell him not to worry about Peter - he's not worth it. I would _make_ Sirius forgive himself, and then I would thank him for being the best friend I ever had.I _wish _I had the chance to say that to all of them, but as they say: _if wishes were horses, beggars could ride. _

The danger in packing too close together is that if one falls, the others do as well. It was like dominoes, stacked in a long, elaborate and intricate line; impressive from afar, strong together when standing, but the fall of one will be the fall of the rest.

We _were_ dominoes, and I the first to topple, taking the others with me.The first domino is the one to blame for the fall of the others.

I fell first.

_It's my fault._


End file.
